What I Want
by JunoMagic
Summary: A short story featuring mysterious! Elaine from my neverending story Lothíriel.


**Disclaimer: **This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J. R. R .Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters that belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the private enjoyment of readers at FanFictionNet, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

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What I Want

He could not make sense of her. As he prided himself more than a little in his way with women – both as a friend and a lover, that irritated him quite a bit. He also had the feeling that she knew exactly how much he was puzzled by her and that she silently laughed at him.

Yes, that was definitely the feeling she gave him, the way she sat there, one leg up on the chair and drawn against her body, the holes in her faded blue jeans revealing smooth white skin on a long, slender leg, observing him calmly as he moved about the kitchen. She was older than the rest of his flatmates, 43 years, although she had only just started her assistantship as a surgeon in Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children. But she looked younger. Actually, she was breathtakingly beautiful. She had been in Africa for years with "Medicines Sans Frontieres". She had only returned last year to start her internship to become a full-fledged surgeon.

The problem was that although they had shared a house for a year now, he felt he knew basically nothing about Elaine Tarnost. This was strange, because she was not at all unsociable. She enjoyed going to the clubs with the rest of them and to the movies, concerts, or for weekends in the country. She was easy going and beautiful and smart, everything really that you could wish for in a flatmate. And yet, somehow she managed to keep herself distanced from him and the others.

At the moment he was quite sure that she was indeed silently laughing at him, the way she crouched there, her spiky, black hair tousled about her face. She kept her hair very short, almost like a crew cut. But in spite of that hair-do she looked very feminine, almost elfin, her face clear-cut and delicate, her eyes large and of an especially bright grey that reminded him of the sea in the evening sun.

"You are laughing at me!" He accused her, turning away from the stove where two steaks sizzled on their way to being a nice, rosy medium. He had invited Elaine to dinner. She had surprised him by accepting his invitation. Because he wanted to surprise her, too, he had decided to cook for her. He was a good cook and really enjoyed cooking, but he thought that she might not be aware of that. Indeed she had been a little astonished when he had explained his plans to her. She had raised a delicately slanted black eyebrow at him and agreed – as long as she did not have to help. And she did not. Every other girl he had ever charmed with a home-cooked meal had been eager to help. Not her. She simply slouched gracefully on that chair and watched him, sipping her Martini – white, dry.

"Maybe I am," she agreed, her voice a bit husky and deliciously deep. "A little bit."

He guessed that in a way he deserved it. Damn it. He had never come up against a woman of her substance. His attempts to make her notice him had probably been pathetically obvious.

"Somehow I have the feeling you don't like games."

Now she really laughed at him. It was a soft laugh, not an actress' or a seducer's deep throated, dramatic laugh; this was a simple, soft, amused laugh. He felt at once humiliated and intrigued.

She raised her glass to him. "I'm not averse to games. It depends on the game. Some games can be quite amusing."

He gulped. He was a successful surgeon and although he was eleven years younger than she was, he was ahead of her in his career. He was also what a casual observer would probably call a bit of a "Casanova". But with Elaine he felt completely out of his depth.

"I'll be honest with you," he said finally. "You intrigue me."

The corners of her eyes crinkled up with a wide, mischievous grin. "I never noticed."

Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows at her. But he did not rise to the bait. With her, his instincts and experience seemed to be of little use. He had to plunge in and see what would happen. Somehow this realization made his heart speed up in a way that was not entirely unpleasant.

"Look, we've shared a house for more than a year, and I have the feeling I hardly know you. Is it a crime that I'd like to get to know you better?" Unconsciously he had moved towards her, gripping the back of the empty chair in front of the table and leaning towards her. Completely unperturbed by this gesture, Elaine bent forward a little and propped her chin on her knee, using her folded hands as a cushion.  
"No," she said. "Hardly a crime. Since it is true, we have shared a house for over a year. But there have to be some things that you already know about me." Her nostrils flared delicately at that point. "Watch that steak, doctor, or we'll need to dial 999 right quickly."

He made a growling noise at the back of his throat that made her laugh again and turned back to the meal. He was lucky; she had alerted him just in time.

The table in the dining room was already prepared and soon they sat opposite each other in the candlelight with some cool jazz playing softly in the background. The steak was tender and juicy, with core that was still pink but a nicely crisp exterior. The beans were a vibrant, dark green; they still had some bite and were sprinkled with bits of crunchy bacon. The baked potatoes were soft and earthy in taste, filled with his secret stuffing of cheddar, egg and sour cream. There was expensive ruby-red Californian wine and French water.

He had some tiramisu from one of the best Italian restaurants hidden away in the fridge as a dessert and a bottle of excellent single malt whisky should the evening grow late talking in front of the fire place.

He knew how to create the right atmosphere to get to know and seduce each other.

She obviously enjoyed the meal and the show. But again she remained strangely out of reach.  
She tilted her head and studied his face. He wondered if she liked what she saw - his well-shaved cheeks, long thin nose, the stubbornly cleft chin, the thin artsy glasses, a hair-style that was faintly recalling the great time of film noir, sleek and noble. In the end he surmised that she probably did, because her eyes seemed to catch fire, a deep, silvery glow.

"Well, you said you wanted to get to know me better," she said, her voice teasing. "How about you start by telling me what you think that you know about me and then I tell you if this is much or little and then maybe I allow you to ask a question or two. Would that suit you?"

"You're not going to make this easy, will you?" He put his knife and fork down and gave her what he thought of as his piercing look.

There was an answering glint of steel in her eyes. "I think," she said slowly, "You have had it easy quite long enough. So, are you ready for this game or not?"

He felt his stomach tighten and things lower down in his body tingled slightly. He reached for his glass and slowly lifted in a salute. "I'm game, my fair lady."

For some reason this gallantry made her chuckle. He frowned at her, but she ignored him. "What then," another raising of that black brow, another amused twinkling in her eyes. "Do you think that you know about me?"

"Well."  
'Well' was not a good start. If she had laughed now, he might have become annoyed and called it off, this game of his that she had so skilfully taken over. But she only waited patiently, sipping the remainder of her wine.

"You are Elaine Tarnost, 43 years old, intern at the Great Ormond Street, a dedicated physician with some years in Africa with 'Medicines Sans Frontieres' in her resume. You are successful in your career, but dedicated to the greater good. You are beautiful." He looked at her, thrilled again by the view of bright grey eyes, tousled black hair, immaculate skin, lithe body. She only rolled her eyes at him. "Well, you are. It seemed unfair not to remark upon this delightful fact."

That won him a real smile. Encouraged by this small success, he went on. "You love cats."  
She owned three grey cats that were called Beru, Lothy and El. She only widened her eyes slightly at this. He would have to do better.  
"You love fast cars." Another obvious one: she owned a racy black BMW sports car that made his toenails curl up in envy. "Maybe you like the feeling of power," he continued, musing about what the car suggested about the woman in front of him. Suddenly he remembered a trip to the coast. "You hate being driven. You want to be in charge."

She nodded at that.

"I don't like to be a passenger either," he said. "What are we going to do if I invite you to some fancy resort for the next bank holiday weekend?"

Her reply was an undignified snort. "We'll work something out, I expect."

Much later he stared at her in the twilight of her bedroom. She did not want to cuddle after making love. She lay on her side across from him and looked at him, her gaze calm and deep.

"Well, my friend," she asked in a low voice. "Do you think you know me a little better now?"

He looked back at her, feeling both exhausted and empowered by their shared passion. His answer had better be the right one.

"In a way," he replied finally. "But somehow you are still as mysterious as you were before. Maybe even more. You are very passionate and very strong. I would still like to get to know you better."

This time her answering laugh was as deep-throated and suggestive as any man could wish for.

"No, I am sure. I most certainly don't want to go to the grand opening of 'The Lord of the Rings'," she repeated and there was a hint of steel in her voice.

Most women he knew would have killed for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, whether they cared for the books or not. But not Elaine. She shrugged that invitation off as if it was just another date for the movies. He had had a hell of a time getting the tickets. But here she stood, elusive as ever, and told him that she simply did not want to go to this VIP event that would have left most anyone gaping and drooling. They had shared a bed for seven months now. And he still felt that he did not know her at all. Sometimes he wondered what it would take to discover her mystery and if he would ever be able to understand her completely.

"You always seem to know just what you want," he finally said, trying to hide his exasperation.

There was a strange gleam in her eyes as she looked at him and at the tickets he was still holding in his hand.

"Yes," she agreed. "I have always known what I wanted. Not much else maybe, but at least that. And at the moment, there is one thing that I want most of all. Or rather, one person. The question is, does he want me, too?" She favoured him with a darkly considering look, then turned on her heels and walked into her bedroom, leaving the door open for him to join her.

For a second he stared at the tickets in disgust. Then he threw them into a bowl of odds and ends on the dresser and followed her.

Who wanted to see "The Lord of the Rings" anyway?

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**A/N: **Elaine will return in my sequel to "The Tides of Time and the Bones of the Earth", "The Return of the Shadow". 

In case you have noticed that the timing is weird: that's not an error, that's on purpose. Time and space have little meaning in my Juniverse.

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**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all:_ If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing.

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Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this story.

Yours  
JunoMagic


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